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Poetry by Uma Asopa 

Uma lives in Gujarat, India.



© 2005 Uma Asopa




The Visitor

"Knock, knock --
let me in. I am not a stranger.
But, I suspect
you were expecting someone
bright, chatty, gurgling with laughter.

Did I catch you off-guard?
Or, you were on your way
to receive me with apprehension -
looking down at your toes,
counting tiles on the floor-
your gaze vacant, out of focus-
your hands fumbling nervous.

I had no appointment with you, but
I saw a vacuum and I settled
in the chair against you.
You dared not look me in the face,
yet you wished to know my name.
It could make you feel low
to know that I am depression

today I just came
to make my presence felt.
From now on I am going to be a regular.






As I Sang To Her

(previously published at WAH4)

The sun came in from the same window
splashing pale peach dawn on her still face.

People moved in and out of the room
in hushed hesitance.
I did not know if she was aware,
or understood that I sang
her favorite bhajans of Meera
and expected her to nod in approval.

She was still breathing; I was sure
the notes trickled in with her breath.
As Meera sang to Krishna
in spiritual frenzy
my mother must have slipped away.

Her journey took a few hours.
But, it gave me some respite
singing to her one last time 
what she had taught me 
in emotive, modulated voice.

Musically it sounded so correct,
and the moment was just.
Only, I yearned to know if she had heard.






All work is property of Uma Asopa.




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